Page 52 of Stepbrothers with Benefits
He stared at me for a moment before sighing and rolling his eyes. “You aren’t a molester.”
“Look,” I said, still shuffling my feet on the towel because it gave me something to do with all the anxious energy building inside me. “I’m not sure how much I remember about that night, but I’ve remembered enough to know that title definitely counts.”
“It does not,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Then what would you call it? Because you definitely got groped, and I do not remember you telling me, ‘Yes, Milo, that is a perfectly acceptable thing to do.’ Unless I’m really missing something, which I could be. I don’t even remember what you said when I did that.”
His brow furrowed deeper, and I braced for what he was about to say, deflating in surprise when he asked, “Okay...what do you remember?”
I frowned, the shuffling of my feet slowing as I thought hard. Trying to remember something that really didn’t want to be remembered was like trying to hold on to an icy piece of sheet metal roofing so you didn’t fall three stories to the groundbecause you thought it was a good idea to take a piss off the top of the building...which I knew personally.
“It’s just like...pieces,” I admitted, hating that my poor choices that night had led to all this, including my difficulty pulling up the memory I was trying to own up to. “I know I talked...I don’t know what I talked about; the words aren’t coming to me, but I know I talked. And all things considered with the pieces of the memory I have, I’m pretty sure I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said...things that are embarrassing as hell for me and were probably uncomfortable as hell for you to have to lie there and listen to.”
“Well,” he began, then waved himself off as he gestured toward me. “Just...go ahead, we’ll get there, I guess.”
“Wait, what?”
“Milo? Just say what you remember and what you want to say about what you remember, alright? I’ve had time to think about this, but you’re just now getting into it, and I know what that means.”
“What does it mean?”
He smiled a little. “It means you have to ramble until the things coming out of your mouth start making sense to your head.”
I stared at him, caught off guard by the truth, and then frowned. “You know, as great as it is to have someone who understands me, it’s also annoying sometimes.”
“I’m sure,” he said, sipping his beer.
“How would you like it if I said I know you didn’t bring up what happened because you were more worried about how I would feel if you brought it up instead of how you should feel about the entire thing? Or that you’re letting me talk so you can run it through your head dozens of times to figure out how you actually feel because you always take your sweet time figuring that out?”
“I’d say you know me quite well.”
“But you’re not annoyed.”
“No.”
“Figures,” I grumbled and squirmed under his expectant gaze. “I...fine! I remember...touching you. Like, it was normal touching at first, I think, at least normal for us, which isn’t all that normal by some people’s standards.”
“I’d say most people’s standards.”
“Whatever, I like touching people I like, what of it?”
“Clearly.”
I could feel my face draining as I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Sorry,” he said, but the twinkle in his eyes told me he wasn’t all that sorry.
Scowling, I resumed stamping my feet to get the water off the carpet. “I remember like...knowing it was you, but also forgetting that...well, I guess that things weren’t likethat. I was comfortable and you uh...” Well, he’d felt good as hell, but that probably wasn’t the best thing to throw in there. “You were there.” Okay, that was a lame fill-in for what was more true, but it would have to do. “And I just...I don’t know. I kind of got wrapped up in how I was feeling, not like reality. So I...” Fuck, just say it, “got handsy. I groped you. Oh, and to top it off, I was like...rubbing against you with my...yeah.”
Eli stared at me before snorting. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen someone struggle so hard to talk about sex without actually talking about sex.”
“It wasn’t sex!” I protested, face warmer than I could ever remember it being. “Just...sexual.”
“I think at this point the difference is negligible.”
“I know I don’t have a right to ask for a bone to be thrown my way, but c’mon.”
“Should I joke that it was my bone you were trying to get hold of in the first place?”
